


reunited (and it feels so good)

by bitchbabytears



Category: Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bar, Bisexual Male Character, Cute, Cuties, Favorites, Fluff, Gay Sex, Help, How Do I Tag, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Love, M/M, My brain is weird, Sex, Smut, Swearing, Sweet, Sweet/Hot, They'd be so cute together, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, Why Did I Write This?, Why is Lin married, idk how to tag this, spanglish, this is soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 18:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10904862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitchbabytears/pseuds/bitchbabytears
Summary: Set in like April 2016.Lin had been the one to suggest they bring an end to their unfortunate hiatus of mutual orgasms, and they had both cleared the night in their respective calendars weeks ago. Maybe that is why it needled Raúl so very much when Lin showed up to their place of meeting nearly an hour late.





	reunited (and it feels so good)

**Author's Note:**

> it feels strange to not have to put my usual disclaimer about not owning the characters i'm writing about. but instead, a light reminder that we are actively not showing this work to anyone involved in the plot of this work.  
> much like the first work i posted here, this is just my emotionally horny drabbles.  
> i recently saw the clips on youtube of lin and raúl performing a west side story track in 2014 for the first time, this idea blossomed soon after.  
> it's probably more than obvious that i couldn't resist writing raúl a little barba-esque. i doubt that is how he actually holds himself.  
> my knowledge of the spanish language is limited to a handful of italian lessons in grade school and the joy that is google translate, so apologies for any errors i may or may not have made in that department.  
> right now where i live, it's 2:30 in the morning and i have to be up at 7, but i was determined to get this finished. tomorrow is going to be hell. enjoy it for me.  
> there may or may not be a followup at some point, i haven't decided, and knowing me, i won't until i've got six pages of pwp sitting in word waiting to be uploaded while i write my next author's notes.  
> title from the front bottoms' song skeleton.  
> feedback is always greatly appreciated.

Raúl sits on a barstool, tapping his foot in a way he hopes seems more impatient rather than nervous. Nervous is something he feels often, but rarely shows. He’s dragging his fingertips around the rim of his whiskey, or what was his whiskey and is now pathetically half melted ice cubes sitting in an eighth of an inch of unappealing looking amber tinged water. There’s a matching glass, although unsipped and with ice cubes less pathetic in appearance sitting ten inches from his right hand. Raúl bought it, and he’s now considering drinking it too, bored senseless watching the condensation created by the ice roll down the outside in painfully slow drops, and tired of looking like he’s waiting for someone who probably isn’t going to show. That’s the fact, Raúl’s someone, probably won’t. Despite the fact that he promised, Raúl can’t help thinking bitterly.  
But speak of the devil and he shall appear, because before Raúl can have another thought, Lin-Manuel Miranda is sliding casually into the seat next to him, grinning like he just won the lottery.  
“Hi.” Lin’s voice is like syrup, although Raúl can tell he’s probably already had a shot or two. His dark hair is growing back from the hacking it was giving, fluffy and shiny. He’s wearing a navy suit with a white shirt and baby blue tie, it fits exceptionally well. He looks good, young and happy and healthy.  
“You’re late, we said 8:30, it’s seventeen minutes past nine.” Raúl is determined not to give in easily.  
Lin only smiles easily, in that irritating way that makes Raúl want to deck him. Or kiss him. “Sorry, sorry. I got caught up, I’m kind of a star now, y’know? That happens. But it’s sweet of you to worry, Esparza.” His New York drawl elongates the vowels in his apology, and the way he pronounces Raúl’s surname perfectly and easily is attractive to no end, despite the fact that he’s both annoying and teasing Raúl. “Ooh!” Lin’s voice increases in volume and pitch far too quickly, he attracts several curious glances but only smiles kindly at his new audience, he lowers his tone again, “You bought me a drink!”  
“It’s probably lukewarm by now. But I did, yes. Enjoy.”  
Lin’s dark eyes reflect the shimmering surface of the amber liquid as he takes a long sip. “You’re so sweet to me.” He says, smile genuine but suggestive.  
It’s a throwback to 2014, Raúl realizes quickly, Lin is quoting something that had slipped from Raúl’s own lips in the dressing room they had shared when they performed together at the Miscast event. Raúl remembers with startling clarity how excited and hyped up Lin had been afterwards, how he’d grabbed Raul’s hand in the corridor and dragged him bodily into their dressing room, pressed Raúl up against the inside of the door and kissed him. Those particular words themselves had been said through the fog in Raúl’s brain as Lin just about sucked his brain out through his dick. Lin will attest to it being the sole best blowjob Raúl has ever received.  
“Yeah, yeah. Drink your drink.” Raúl says lightly, but he lets his eyes rake over the expanse of Lin’s body and then flick back up to his eyes. Lin’s hot, really, ridiculously attractive, he knows it and he knows how to use it. He tips his head back to swallow the last sip, showing off the pale, smooth skin of his neck. Hot.  
“Wanna scooch?” What in the fucking world? Lin’s vocabulary is wide, literally the goddamn fucking president knows that, but the words within that vocabulary he chooses to use on a regular basis are… interesting, given his various talents with his mouth.  
“Scooch?” Raúl asks, incredulous but amused. He knows what Lin means from context, but he asks nonetheless.  
Lin slips off his barstool and comes to stand between Raúl’s legs, leaning against his body to whisper in his ear. “Scooch – means go, leave. But in this case it’s code for do you wanna get out of here, go back to my apartment, and fuck me senseless?” He kisses just behind Raúl’s ear, and rocks back onto his heels to watch his words sink in. Green eyes widen and Lin can hear the click of saliva in Raúl’s throat as he struggles to swallow.  
“Lin. Shit. Yes.” He seems to have been rendered incapable of forming compound sentences.  
The walk back to Lin’s apartment is short, and they make the distance, mercifully, without being noticed by some well-intended but incredibly annoying fan. It’s sweet, honest to God. They’re both so, endlessly lucky, and acutely aware of it. But right now, Raúl’s erection is started to press uncomfortably against the fly of his jeans, and Lin’s hand brushes past his own every now and then.  
Between their spontaneous after performance blowjob sess in 2014, and now, no orgasms have been traded. There had been some smiling photographs and selfies at big events, the odd text, some with more flirt than others, but simply not enough time. Lin had been the one to suggest they bring an end to their unfortunate hiatus of mutual orgasms, and they had both cleared the night in their respective calendars weeks ago. Maybe that is why it needled Raúl so very much when Lin showed up to their place of meeting nearly an hour late.  
Finally, after what seems like a decade to Raúl and his dick, Lin grabs his hand and leads him through a spinning door, into the lobby of what must be his apartment building. It is, because Lin grins a chirpy greeting to the doorman, and a similar one to the elevator attendant, because Lin’s building has a fucking one of those. There’s vague, slightly fuzzy disappointment in the back of Raúl’s mind, because he wouldn’t mind shoving Lin against one of the mirrored walls, and reacquainting Lin’s hipbones with the strong grip of his hands. But at least now that they’re almost alone, and there’s definitely no overzealous fans anywhere to be seen, Lin isn’t shy about grabbing Raúl’s hand, and then drifting his fingers higher to trace the tendons in his wrist, and thumb the cuff of his shirt that has somehow managed to remain relatively pressed. Samuel the attendant has the decency to avert his eyes when Lin leans in close enough to press his lips to Raúl’s for a brief moment before the door’s slide open.  
“Goodnight, sirs.” The older man’s voice is tinged with the remnants of a British accent, it’s very fitting, and very stereotypical, Raúl can’t help the smile playing on his lips as he thinks this.  
“Oh, it is, Samuel! Really.” Lin smiles again before grabbing Raúl’s hand properly, leading him down the carpeted hallway. He’s always so goddamn cheerful, even with the tent at the front of his slacks and the glint of desire in his dark, shining eyes.  
Lin’s keys jangle as he unlocks the door, placing his hand on the small of Raúl’s back and guiding him through the threshold of the apartment. The bodily contact is nice, the most Raúl has gotten all night and he’s starting to feel a little desperate, desire and anticipation clawing low in his abdomen.  
“D’you want a drink? Another.” Lin asks, polite and a little tentative.  
“Lin.” Is all Raúl manages, all need.  
“Yeah, that was dumb.” Lin murmurs apologetically, stepping forward and cupping Raúl’s cheek with one hand, the other falling to rest on his ribcage under Raúl’s jacket. “Tell me what you need.”  
In place of an answer, Raúl presses his lips, open mouthed, against Lin’s. The kiss is their first real one in just more than two years. It gets intense fast, like Lin, who tends to be all smiles and cute quips in a first meeting, until you get know him. And then. Well. This happens. Raúl bites into Lin’s plump bottom lip, and it’s gentle but it isn’t and it’s so, so hot. Lin swipes his tongue against Raúl’s top row of teeth, brushes it against the gum there, it draws a shivering gasp out of Raúl. There’s a blur of movement after that, Lin manages to slide a thigh between Raúl’s, retreats his hands to shed his suit jacket, unbutton his shirt, Raúl’s too.  
“Get that out of the way too, now.” Says Raúl, indicating Lin’s soft cotton undershirt but not answering Lin directly.  
“You’re significantly more dressed than I am.” Lin points out, smug but does as he is told nonetheless. To Lin’s relief Raúl seems to be loosening quickly, following suit, ditching his jacket and shirt, folding them both properly over the back of one of Lin’s barstools.  
“God, you’re so proper.” Lin can’t resist the egging, it comes naturally.  
“Fuck off.” But when Lin does, more egging, Raúl looks visibly wounded. So he steps forward, sliding hands over Lin’s hipbones, the way he’s been thinking about for all the nights in the past week. It’s exactly as he remembers, and it all goes straight to his dick.  
“Bedroom?” Lin asks, voice gravelly and red lips glistening.  
“No. Fuck, I can’t wait that long. Christ. I want you so badly.”  
“So have me, damnit, do something. Right now.”  
“Here?” He asks, mind foggy, not quite connecting all the dots.  
“Raúl, bend me over the couch, sit on it and sit me on you, I literally could not give less of a fuck right now. Just. Touch me.” Lin almost snaps, shamelessly desperate with want.  
“Christ.” Raúl grates, gaining confidence rapidly. He nods, considering, puts a hand on Lin’s stomach, drags the fingers of the other over tight nipples. Lin forces breath through his nose steadily.  
“Raúl!”  
Something flicks behind green eyes and Raúl, as if changed, in a trance, seizes Lin by the hips, forces him to fold over the back of Lin’s couch. Crouching behind Lin, Raúl wrestles with the button and fly of Lin’s slacks, slides his fingers beneath the tight elastic of Lin’s boxers and pulls both layers of clothing down, exposing Lin’s ass. He watches briefly, mesmerized by the tight, lightly shaking muscle under smooth tan skin. Not being able to resist, Raúl leans forward, brushing his cheek over Lin’s ass unintentionally making Lin’s breath hitch, half in arousal and half in anticipation before connecting his lips to a small patch of skin, sucking lightly to begin with. After just seconds Raúl pulls back, barely a hint of teeth over skin. All of Lin seems to have flushed, but the spot where Raúl’s mouth had been is splotchy pink.  
“Are you aware of how pretty you are?” Raul asks conversationally, “God. Just like this, under me. You’re so responsive.”  
Lin whines breathily before moaning, all high pitched all gorgeous when Raúl reconnects his mouth to the skin, sucking harder and incessantly now. “Ay Dios! More, Raúl, por favor!”  
Raúl chuckles, actually fucking laughs against the skin of Lin’s ass at the Spanglish. “Does that happen with all the people you fuck? Mixing your languages.” He asks, bemused.  
“Shut the fuck up, motherfucker – Ah!” Lin tries for defensive but before he gets all he words out of his mouth, and in the right order and language, Raul is sliding a single finger – and how is it wet? – down the cleft of his ass and pressing it gently to the tight entrance of his hole.  
“Okay?” Raúl asks, not concerned but not without concern either. That show, Lin thinks bitterly. But it’s good of him to ask, even when everything about Lin screams – “I am so good, but I’d be better if you fucking got your dick in me.” – right now.  
“Yes, God. Keep going. Two, I can take two.” The words fall from his lips in a desperate tangle and Raúl gratifies the request, carefully and steadily pressing two long fingers into Lin. His stills his fingers once they’re pressed in just past the first knuckle, giving Lin a second to adjust, to remember what having someone’s fingers in his asshole is like. If Raúl rocks up onto his toes he can just see over the edge of the couch, how Lin is gripping and clawing at the couch blanket like his life depends on it. “Move them. Please!”  
So Raúl does, thrusting his two fingers shallowly, once, twice. And then three, suddenly, deeper, harder. Lin groans perfectly. “God, you like that.”  
“Really?” Lin replies, sarcastic and incredulous but his voice is high and cracking on odd syllables.  
Raúl just grins, right there against Lin’s ass, fingers still thrusting, scissoring and searching for Lin’s prostate. Lin can literally feel his lips move and then a sliver of his teeth. Motherdamnfucker. But then the tip of Raúl’s fingers all hit that one spot in Lin who shudders into the sensation, buzzing with pleasure.  
“Fuck, right there. Do that again. Please.” His voice is relatively controlled considering their position. Raúl obliges, twisting his fingers deep in Lin again, relishing the cry that spills from Lin’s lips. Again and again, brushing the same bundle of nerves until Lin is all but sobbing into his closed fist, literally biting into his own skin.  
After minutes, Raúl now pawing at his own erection through his slacks and boxers, trying and failing miserably to alleviate some of the amazing awful tension, Lin finally warns him, “I’ll cum if you don’t stop! Fuckin’ Christ!”  
“Yeah? Shit, okay. D’you gotta condom and lube?” Raúl asks, pulse and arousal spiking dramatically and seizing his senses.  
“P-Pocket of my slacks.” Lin gasps as Raúl’s hand suddenly disappears, leaving him empty and trying to clench around nothing.  
“God.” Is all Raúl replies with, picking up Lin’s pants from where they lay thrown and discarded on his kitchen floor. Sure enough, stuffed into the pocket is a small tube of slick, only half full, a strip of three Durex, and Lin’s earphones.  
Upon seeing the expression on Raúl’s face, realizing that Lin had had the items in his pants pocket since before the bar, knowing what he wanted, knowing that they would end up in this position or one similarly erotic. His usually soft and laidback features flushed and distressed with arousal, Lin grins. “Presumption is my art form.”  
“Clearly.” Raúl smirks, stepping out of his own slacks and boxers. He fiddles with the condom packet between his fumbling, unsteady fingers briefly before giving up the show entirely, and ripping it with his teeth. He rolls the latex over his length, moaning softly at his own cool fingers on feverishly hot, oversensitive arousal. “Need any lube?” Raúl asks, just for something to say even as he flicks the cap back and slides his thumb over the excess pooling.  
“Yeah, some.” Lin says lowly, grinding his hips against the back of the couch. That’s going to be gross later.  
“Fucking stop that, gimme a sec, you impatient fuck.” And, God, it shouldn’t be, but Raúl cussing like a goddamned dockworker, focusing on drizzling lube over his own fingers and sliding over his erection, is possibly the hottest thing Lin’s ever clapped eyes on. That he remembers. But with the tequila shots and whiskey and pure lust making up the larger portion of his blood volume, his memory isn’t serving him as well as it could be.  
“Lin.” Raúl says considering, head tilted ever so slightly to one side, looking ridiculously adorable even as he wipes the excess lube on his fingers off on Lin’s slacks. Motherfucker. “You wanna ride me?” And oh, does Lin ever?  
“Yes. Fuck yes. Jesus Christ. Yes.” Lin babbles, standing and babbling as though Raúl has just proposed marriage. “Sit.”  
Raúl does, and Lin wobbles on shaky muscled legs. Fine fucking legs. At first Lin stands a maddeningly far distance from Raúl, only touching his shoulder with one hand to steady himself as they kiss, hot and deep and rough. But then he’s kneeling beside Raúl’s thighs and straddling Raúl’s lap and – oh fuck! Lin is breathing too hard to kiss as he slides himself carefully, and infuriatingly slowly over Raúl’s length, eliciting a groan that Raúl muffles against Lin’s neck. It’s new and weird and good but not weird and bad which is good and Lin’s brain is short circuiting because he can hear himself moan, and feels Raúl’s breath against his skin and Raúl’s cock in him and it’s so, so good that he only barely registers the minute flash of pain before Raúl is grabbing at his hips and grinding up into Lin, hitting Lin’s prostate on the first try, but that’s all that Lin’s world is anymore.  
“Fuck, Lin, baby.” Well that’s new, the petname, “How the fuck are you so goddamn tight still?” Talking is the thing he does during sex, always has, can’t not. “Look so pretty like this, mi cielo.” And that, not only a petname, but one in Spanish, is definitely new. Motherfucker. When the fog lifts off of Lin’s mind and he can speak, Raúl is never going to hear the end of that. Much like how Lin had quoted 2014 Raúl earlier in the dark of the bar – “You’re so sweet to me.” – and hot damn is he.  
But for now, Lin can only respond by moaning wantonly, head falling back. Raúl leans into Lin, forcing them into a rhythm that works, one hand tangling in the silky, cropped strands of Lin’s dark hair and the other bruising Lin’s hip.  
It continues like this for several minutes, Lin fucking himself down onto Raúl’s cock, with renewed energy and enthusiasm. Raúl loses himself in it all, drawing closer and closer to the edge with every slam of their hips, with every pretty noise ripping itself almost violently from Lin’s throat. He’s not going to be able to sing without feeling it for a week.  
“Raúl, cariño, please! Tou-touch me, por favor. Dios!” 

So he does, and so it goes, Raúl encircling the base of Lin’s neglected cock with cool, slightly tacky fingers. One, two, three flicks of Raúl’s wrist is all it takes to set Lin off, and magnificently. He sobs something that sounds vaguely like Raúl’s name, but might just be gibberish, spilling all over himself and Raúl and slicking Raúl’s fist over Lin’s cock. 

He looks so perfectly ruined, dark, lust blown eyes gazing at Raúl, red, swollen lip bitten lightly. Hot fucking damn, is all Raúl can think before falling into the trap of his own orgasm. Gut punched and gasping he spills rapidly into the condom and Lin shivers, over sensitive. 

They sit, breathing heavily in damp huffs against each other’s mouths, slowly coming back to their own. Lin moves first, slow and sweet, sated and kissy, presses his lips to Raúl’s. He slides off of Raúl’s lap, wobbling as he stands, they both groan at the loss. Raúl grabs for the condom, tying it and crossing into Lin’s kitchen to throw it into the trash. He can hear Lin opening and closing drawers, running water in another room, probably a bathroom, and then he walks back out, now wearing soft cotton shorts and carrying a washcloth. Without a word he cleans the collective fluid off Raúl’s stomach and the residual slick off Raúl’s hands. Satisfied, and still without speaking, he takes one of Raúl’s hands in his own and leads him into Lin’s bedroom, easing the covers back and sliding in, patting the spot next to him as an indication that Raúl should follow suit. Lin curls up against Raúl’s naked back, spooning him and settling an arm over Raúl’s ribs. 

Minutes pass easily, “You want me to go?” Raúl asks tentatively without wanting to, breaking the comfortable silence, although he can barely keep his eyes open or his head straight enough to speak. 

Lin hums into Raúl’s shoulder, just manages a chuckle, voice laced with happy exhaustion, “No, you idiot, I want you to stay right here. Sleep. God only knows we need it.” He trails off, maybe dozes for half a second. “Maybe in the morning I’ll eat you out ‘til you're cryin' and then I’ll fuck you, nice and slow. Sound okay?” And, God, how does he manage that, casual, without-a-second-thought dirty talk when he’s pretty much already asleep?

“Yes, mi cielo. That sounds okay.”


End file.
